Take My Whole Life Too
by VintageVillain
Summary: *30 day OTP challenge* The (love)life and times of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper.
1. Holding Hands

**Trying my hand at a 30 day challenge to try and break the writers block on two other fics (that I have every intention if finishing). Feel free to review. **

**This first chapter had two cuss words in it, but nothing worse then what is used on the show. So I hope it's ok.**

0o0

Sherlock, not usually attuned to human emotions, realised quite quickly that Molly was angry at him. The revelation probably had something to do with Mrs Hudson's vase flying past his head and smashing on the wall behind him. But he definitely realised it when he heard some of the unsavoury things coming out of her mouth.

Sherlock lowered his violin and listened to the language choices that would make a salty sea-dog blush. In fact, the petite pathologist was so irate he was only picking up a few words here and there.

"Didn't think that through, did you?" "Bastard!" "Good to know everyone is happy and safe..." "Fired! Can you believe it?" "Lots of hate for you right now Holmes"

One word set off a siren that saw Sherlock bolt from his seat. "Fired?"

"Oh you are listening then, arsehole" she snapped. "Good to know you weren't in the mind palace!"

"I was." He began carefully, staring down at her. "Crazy women screaming tend to get my attention though."

Molly's eyes flashed and another high level curse word (one Sherlock had never even heard John, the most fluent swearer he knew, use). She dug in her oversized bag, pulling out a folded piece of paper and slapping it against his chest.

"What's this?"

Her voice dripping with sarcasm, Molly replied. "It's a letter, dickhead."

If the anger was directed at anyone else, it would have been funny. In the past it had been. To date, one of the most hilarious things Sherlock had ever seen was Molly unleashing her fury on a young incompetent intern. From a distance, it had been all flailing arms and animated facial expressions. It was not funny up close though.

For Sherlock, it was just confusing. He looked down at the letter, unfolding it as he read, "Dear Doctor Hooper, effective immediately you are suspended from active duty. This suspension will be in effect for the duration of the investigation into your practices. If it is found that you are in breach of the medical association guidelines, your permission to practice forensic pathology will be revoked."

He took a minute to let the words sink in while Molly just continued a mantra of "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Calm down," Sherlock snapped, skimming the rest of the document. Molly stopped muttering but continued her pacing. "You are a fine physician who would never be in breach of any guidelines."

"Falsifying a coroners report is a direct breach."

"But you would never falsify a..." Realisation dawned on him. "Oh."

Suddenly, Molly launched herself up onto the coffee table that sat between then and and began pummelling him with her tiny fists. The action was ineffective, much less painful then other times she had struck him, so Sherlock allowed it to happen.

"I falsified your report, you idiot. This is all your fault!" She ranted. Sherlock took a small step out of her strike range, causing Molly to step off of the table. Now, at her natural height, she moved her attention to his chest. "I am bound by a code, which I broke, because you asked me to!"

Sherlock refolded the letter with one hand, letting her words sink in. This was his fault. When he had asked her to take part in his 'death' he had never considered possible repercussions, at least the repercussions for her. Up until now, there hadn't been any consequences for Molly. With all of the frenzy around his return, no one thought to think of accomplices, so with the exception of the relatively perceptive Anderson, no one outside of his tight circle of friends knew what Molly had done for him. Now, obviously, someone had pieced it together, and everything was coming down around Molly.

She sighed, and with one last exhausted jab into his ribs, collapsed into the nearest chair. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. I shouldn't really be blaming you..."

"Yes, you should." Sherlock said, not turning to look at her, instead focusing on the wall above her head, running through all of the possible ways that he could fix this for her. "You are right, it is my fault. I hadn't... I never... I'll fix it."

Molly sat up straighter in her chair. "No, you don't have to. The letter is right, I was in breach of my guidelines of practice. I did do the wrong thing."

"...because I asked you to." He echoed her previous words.

"I could have said no." Molly sighed. There was a brief beat of silence, before both of them began laughing.

Molly continued to laugh at the ludicrous idea that she would have turned him down, but Sherlock soon stopped his laughter. Molly would do anything for him. To a fault. Only now, years after she had helped him did he realise what it all meant. Molly Hooper would risk everything for him. Her job, for example. Sherlock had a power over her. A power that made him uneasy.

When he had asked her to help 'kill' him, it was because he needed someone with notable medical expertise. Molly had been a prime candidate. He hadn't realised exactly what he was capable of getting out of her. What she was willing to give for him. He had manipulated her for his own means before, that was true, but that was not what he wanted now.

Molly was his equal. In some respects, Sherlock believed Molly to be better than him. In that moment, Sherlock knew he would never manipulate her again. He would never repeat his previous tricks of using her sentiment towards him selfishly.

Sherlock stepped forward to sit on the coffee table, putting him eye level with Molly. The pathologist pulled herself together under the intensity if her companion's gaze. "The biggest injustice in all of this Molly is that I haven't really thanked you. For what you did." Molly wanted to interrupt, to tell him that no thank you was necessary, but he persisted. "I came to you when weak and you strengthened me."

Sherlock shocked himself as much as her when he reached out and took one her hand in his. He trapped it between his carefully. "Your strength and intelligence in the matter is what guaranteed its success. It was never my intention for anything to come back on you in this way. But it has... And now you need me."

She stared at his larger hands, wrapped around her notably smaller one. They were warm and smooth, holding her whole body still with just one point of contact. Molly said nothing as she continued to stare at their joined hands. Her hand was sandwiched between his warm palms, something she never expected to feel. This was the most physical contact she had had with Sherlock since she struck him, and sadly, the most intimate physical contact she had had with anyone since she had left Tom.

"What do you propose we do?" Molly whispered. She was all talk when it came to copping the punishment that the medical board wanted to give her. Molly loved her job far to much to turn down the offer of help from a man who had the means to assist.

"'We' do nothing." Sherlock replied, dropping her hands and shattering the moment that she was sure he wasn't even aware they were having. "Wait here."

Sherlock then swept down the hall to his room and slammed the door. Molly sat, stunned, staring after him. Since his return things had been different. Sherlock had gone out of his way to prove that she counted, and with the exception of his relapse, they had been what others would consider friends. He had sought out her advise on many matters, academic and personal, and they had even spent a small amount if time together socially. Their dynamic had shifted.

The strongest evidence of this change was his eagerness to help. Molly doubted he would have offered his assistance to her if she had of found herself in this predicament prior to the fall. Sherlock wanted to help her now, and Molly liked to think that it wasn't just a result of some sort of gratitude, but because he genuinely wanted to.

Her phone ringing pulled her from her thoughts. Molly glanced down at the caller ID. Mike Stamford. Probably calling to ask her to clean out her office until after the investigation.

"Molly," came the cheery voice on the other end of the line. Molly stopped. Her boss was happy to be asking her to leave? That didn't seem right. "Molly, I am going to need to you cover Sandra's Friday night shift. She said she'll exchange it for one of your Saturday nights..."

"Mike!" Molly interrupted. "Mike, I've been suspended."

Mike paused. "No one told you?"

"Told me what?" Molly asked, movement out of the corner of her eye grabbing her attention. Sherlock made his way out of his room, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He busied himself with something in the kitchen, probably an experiment. "Mike?"

"Your suspension was overturned." Mike filled in. Molly, who's gaze still hadn't left Sherlock, almost dropped the phone. "About ten minutes ago. I've been given orders to reissue your shifts immediately."

Ten minutes! Sherlock only been gone about fifteen. She stood, phone still pressed to her ear, and stepped closer to the kitchen. The 'experiement' that she had originally assumed he was doing was in fact tea, and he indicated to a cup on the table just for her.

"So can you? Take Sandra's Friday, I mean?" Mike said in her ear, but Molly hardly heard it.

"Sure." She replied absently. In a quarter of an hour, Sherlock had fixed everything for her. Just as he said he would.

"Thanks Molls." Mike grinned. "Let me know what Saturday you want off. I am glad to have you back, Doctor Hooper."

Molly hung up when she heard the dial tone. "How?"

"Sometimes Mycroft is an asset." Sherlock admitted, stirring sugar into his tea. "Only sometimes."

Molly sat at the (unusually clean) kitchen table and sipped at her tea. Sherlock took the seat across from her. Thanking him seemed like the place to start a conversation, but he cut her off before she could even open her mouth.

"No need to thank me Molly." Sherlock said flippantly. "You looked after me when I needed you, I think it's high time I start looking after you."

Molly, not sure what to say, used her tea cup to hide her smile. Dynamic change indeed.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

**So this chapter turned out a lot more angsty then I first anticipated. Sorry about that. Hopefully this gets the angst out of the way and the rest of the fic can be fluffy. **

**Hope Sherlock is still in character in this chap. **

**Enjoy**

**0o0**

Molly paused at the sight of Sherlock in her lab. It was 2 in the morning and she had thought that she was alone, as was often the case in her rare yet tedious graveyard shifts.

Sherlock's presence, whilst a surprise at the given moment, was not generally surprising. He often slipped in while she was in the lab, accessing the microscopes that were considerably more powerful than his own personal one or running samples through the computer databases. Tonight it looked like he had a thick medical volume from her office, cross referencing it with a few other papers.

What was the most shocking about his presence was that Sherlock was asleep.

Bent double and twisted uncomfortably, his head was resting on the large open book. He looked so peaceful despite cramped nature of his positioning. While awake Sherlock seemed to buzz with energy, bouncing from idea to idea at lightning speed, confusing and marvelling those around him. Even when he was bored he was buzzing. Asleep, however, he was fully at rest.

Molly approached him, taking in his softened features. It was unusually to see him so still. Currently, there was only one part of him moving, his eyes. R.E.M. Unsurprising.

She stepped away and moved to the microscope she had intended on using when she entered the room. If Sherlock really slept as little as he claimed, any rest he got would be beneficial. Even if it was uncomfortably folded over a lab table.

Molly adjusted the microscope to her height (Sherlock must of used it before he fell asleep, as it was positioned for a much taller person) and took the first slide from the box. It was just an average tissue sample, taken from a recent cadaver, but it was part of her job to investigate everything.

The steady, shallow breathing of Sherlock was the only sound other then her own work. It was comforting to have Sherlock there with her, sleeping in the room. There was something unusually intimate about witnessing him sleep, but she couldn't put her thoughts into any real explanation as to why.

While Molly liked to think that she had grown in many ways, there was no growing out of the fact that she would always consider Sherlock Holmes to be the most attractive man she had ever met. Pale skin and dark curls and cheekbones, what wasn't attractive about that. And a part if her, a part she was sure would never go away, still had feelings for him.

Molly had tried to move on. Her engagement to Tom had been almost successful, but the return of Sherlock to all their lives had reminded her of her feelings for him. His return, however, didn't bring her feelings back full force. She had intended on going through with her marriage to Tom, because that was realistic. Sherlock and Tom, she had loved them both, differently but exactly the same. Tom could offer her everything Sherlock was unwilling to give.

It had been Tom who broke off their engagement. Molly had been honest, telling him that she had feelings for Sherlock but that she loved him, Tom, also, and would be creating a life with him. Tom had been a needlessly jealous man, however, and would not accept that Sherlock and Molly were just friends. In the end he had left, saying it was too much pressure.

Molly had come to realise that it was probably for the best, and while she was sure she would never be with Sherlock that way, she was glad that their friendship was back on track.

A pained groan interrupted her musings. At first she though it was Sherlock waking, groaning as he sat up, but a glance revealed the detective still a sleep, a lot more uneasy than he had been a few minutes prior. He groaned again, this time sounding as though he was fighting off an attacker.

Molly stepped away from her work, but hesitated before approaching him. She assumed he was having a nightmare, but would he appreciate her waking him, even if his distress was this obvious?

Sherlock groaned again, this time accompanied with a single word. "No!"

Hesitation gone, Molly crossed the lab and rested a hand on his shoulder, the contact made him cry out but not wake up. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't move, but his breathing was now heavier, coming in short, pained gasps. He sobbed another "No!" into the relative silence of the room. The word echoed hauntingly.

"Sherlock!" Molly said, louder this time. He was obviously distressed, and she needed to wake him up. To let him know that she was there and everything was going to be ok. "Sherlock."

He made another sobbing sound then clamped his mouth shut. Molly was now standing so close she could hear the squeak of his teeth as they ground together.

"Sherlock," she all but yelled in his ear, her hand still holding his tense shoulder.

With a gasp he awoke, standing so quickly the stool he had been on fell to the floor with a clatter. He looked around, bewildered, lost, until finally his tear rimmed eyes locked on her.

Then she could hardly breathe. Sherlock had pulled her hard against his chest, wrapping his arms so tightly around her that movement was impossible. He had stooped, his head buried into her neck, where he continued to struggle for breath, releasing the occasional noise of misery.

"Shh," Molly soothed, getting enough movement that she could awkwardly angle her hands to stroke a very small section of his back. "I've got you Sherlock. I've got you now."

His breathing calmed but he didn't release her, nor did he raise his head. The warmth of her body was doing wonders at calming his still terrorised mind. Molly stopped stroking his back eventually, instead returning his embrace, relaxing more as they both settled at the contact.

"I am sorry." He whispered, but didn't release her.

"It was just a bad dream Sherlock." She whispered reassuringly. "We all have them."

Sherlock held her tighter. "What do you dream about... Your bad dreams, I mean?"

Molly took a steadying breath. "All sorts of things Sherlock. My father's death. An accident I witnessed as a child. The fact that I dated Jim Moriarty." Sherlock tightened his grip. "Do you dream of him too?"

"Not directly." Sherlock admitted, his usual steadiness returning to his voice. "He's there sometimes. Along with everything else. The smirking face of Magnussen. The pavement outside of St. Bart's. The look on Ma... The shooters face as that trigger was pulled. All the times I've faced death in my life."

Molly's hands rose to his curls, brushing through them comfortably as he told her what he dreamt of. He had a lot of frightening thingsto dream about, that was for sure.

"After I was shot, I went into my mind palace, searching for a way to save my life." Sherlock began, then straightened up to his full height. Molly expected him to drop his hands away from her and return them to their normal, comfortable distance, but his body stayed close to hers. "I don't know if you know much about the technique Molly, but you sort of set it up with things you know, locations you've been too or people you're close to. It's my knowledge, but I allow others, in my mind to tell me what I already know."

Molly was more than officially lost. She had no idea what he was trying to say. She understood the fundamentals of the mind palace. He had explained it to her before, but this idea of connecting everything to real world places or people was new to her and she was unsure of its relevance.

Sherlock noticed that Molly wasn't following, but instead of losing his temper or insulting her intelligence as he would likely do with others, Sherlock just continued speaking. "I knew how to save myself, but my mind wanted to hear it from someone else. Someone I trusted. In the seconds after I was shot, Molly, I thought of you."

Molly finally understood what Sherlock was trying to say. Sensing he didn't expect a response, Molly rested her head on his chest, holding him closer. He trusted her. His mind went to her in his moment of need.

"I sometimes dream of you." Sherlock admitted, his hand coming to rest in the back of her head."You're sometimes in my bad dreams too."

He breathed deeply again, steadying himself, picking his words carefully. "Those dreams are the worst Molly. In those dreams I loose you. Something happens to you and I don't know how to stop it, I retreat to my mind palace and there's no one there to tell me what to do, because you're gone."

"I am not going anywhere." Molly whispered against his chest. Sherlock gently pulled her ponytail, making their eyes meet for the first time since he had so violently awoke.

He looked down at her, hand still in her hair. Molly looked up, her brown eyes searching deep within his. This was the closest he had ever held her, and the experience was a pleasant one. Molly had been on his mind a lot recently, more than he even wished to admit to himself.

He had dreamt of her the last three times he slept. Twice were dreams like the one he just had, and one had been another, different dream. The other dream he had been just sitting with her, arm around her shoulder, laying in the sunlight. It had been nice, but nothing compared to actually holding her.

John would tell him he had feelings for her. Well at least that's what mind palace John had told him when he searched his feelings. And the palace, as he had admitted, was just his brain telling him what he already knew.

Molly was still in his arms, searching his eyes. He cupped her face and pulled her head back against his chest, cuddling her there. "I don't know what this all means Molly. But I hope you'll let me work it all out."

Molly tightened her already firm grip, and sighed into his embrace once more.


	3. Watching a Movie

**Thanks for all the support for this fic guys! I appreciate it!**

**0o0**

Gaming/Watching a Movie

Had Sherlock Holmes told her he had feelings for her?

It was the question that had been in the forefront of her mind for three days. Sherlock had held her close and told her that he didn't know what any of it meant, but he wanted to find out. Ironically, Molly had no idea what that meant, but now she wanted more than anything to find out.

Molly had had feelings for Sherlock for longer than she cared to remember. Through good times and bad she had cared for him deeply. She had lived though his indifference, through his needing her, exile and now his friendship, holding onto the ever decreasing idea that he could one day feel for her. Molly had all but given up, ready to just be content in his close friendship, when he had suddenly begun to return her feelings.

Or at least she thought he was.

Molly hadn't seen him in days. After they had separated from their embrace that night they had continued to speak, this time about science. Sherlock had a need to pick her brain on the manifestation of infected cells and Molly had participated in only half heartedly. As much as she loved that Sherlock had come to her with a medical question (as opposed to going to John) she couldn't stop her brain, ablaze with his words.

It was with hesitation that he left around dawn when a message from Greg pulled him away on a case. Molly hadn't seen him in days, so she assumed it was an important case.

Or maybe he wasn't visiting because he regretted his words.

The microwave in the mortuary break room beeped insistently, pulling her from her thoughts of the consulting detective. Molly stood from where she had been sitting, excited, for her microwave popcorn was ready. She had been dreaming of this popcorn all day (between daydreams of Sherlock, of course) from the moment she had slipped the package into her work bag that morning. She loved microwave popcorn, it was her guilty pleasure, her kryptonite, and if she didn't moderate her intake, she could easily live off of the stuff.

Pinching the corners of the bag, Molly upended it into the bowl she had waiting, and returned to her small office. She wasn't technically at work that day, in the medical sense, but instead Mike had given her the day to catch up on the medical association's online lecture series. Every year they had to do a certain amount of professional learning, which meant that every few months, she would get the opportunity to study, a task that she actually really enjoyed.

Before her popcorn break, she had watched a fascinating lecture about the average chemical absorption rate of human skin. it had reminded her if Sherlock (what didnt these days) and a similar test he had done the year before. Molly couldn't wait to see him and let him know where his own experiments had gone wrong. Maybe he would want to redo the experiment with the new knowledge. Maybe he would need her assistance...

Next on the list was a lecture by one of her favourite lecturers about the decomposition of tissues in extreme weather conditions. It was the lecture she was most looking forward to. Her co-workers who had already had their fostered study hours had been raving about it all week. She could hardly wait,

She had settled comfortably into her chair and put a title in her notebook. the cursor floated above the play button, which she had raised her finger to hit, when she heard her name being called from the next room. Instincts told her she should be angry, but the voice registered in her mind, and she couldn't help but smile, "I am in my office Sherlock!"

Sherlock stormed in, aggitated and nothing like the soft man she had shared an embrace with earlier in the week. "Toes, or fingers, I'd prefer toes actually, sample of males and females. Need them." When Molly didn't move to assist him, he looked at her quizzically. "Now!"

"First off, not your servant." She sighed, nibbling some of her popcorn. "Two, I can't keep giving you body parts Sherlock, its getting hard to explain why my experiment log doesn't match the parts register. And third, no morgue access today."

"No morgue access?" Sherlock repeated, testing each word like the sentence didn't make sense. "But you're Molly Hooper."

She had no idea how her name would be linked to her access status of the day. "Thanks?"

"It's your morgue."

"Well, it's St. Bart's morgue." Molly replied, indicating around the office at her note pads, medial journals for cross referencing, and her popcorn. "I am off today for professional learning."

"But I need toes!" Sherlock cried, sounding amazingly like a tantrum throwing toddler. Molly rolled her eyes, he must be bored.

"And I need to watch Dr Winston's lecture on decomposition..."

"Of human tissue in weather anomalies?" Sherlock filled in, and honestly, Molly had never heard him this excited. "You have access to it?"

"I am about to watch it now."

And in the most surprising turn of events, Sherlock asked "May I watch it with you?"

"Umm, ok." Molly smiled, moving her chair over so that there was enough space for Sherlock to bring another chair around in front of the monitor. He settled in front of the monitor with her, and made a 'proceed' motion with his head. Molly finally hit play on the lecture.

Molly scribbled notes through the hour long lecture, sharing her bowl of popcorn with Sherlock, who from the moment he had sat down had said nothing. As the lecture finished, Molly pressed stop and turned to Sherlock. She didn't know where to start. So many ground breaking theories had been in the lecture, and she was excited that someone like Sherlock was there to share it with her.

"Fascinating." He said, more to himself than to her. "That point about the resting temperate of sand. Wow."

"I know." She agreed, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "I mean, it makes sense, but I had never considered it. It is going to change things like beach and desert crime scene analysis..."

"Thank you for sharing that with me." Sherlock said suddenly, interrupting her analysis of what they had seen. Molly blushed, realising that Sherlock's hand was resting across the back of her chair. He wasn't even touching her, but she could feel the warmth of his arm there.

"You could have downloaded this yourself." Molly said lightly, angling herself further to him. Sherlock leant forward a little.

"I could have." He admitted carefully, smiling at her. "Watching it with you was fun though."

Molly agreed with him, smiling coyly. "You didn't really want toes did you?"

"I would have settled for fingers." Sherlock said cheekily. Molly giggled. "I came to see you."

The truth was in the open, making Molly blush and look at the computer screen again. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

"You knew I wouldn't be that far away." Sherlock replied. His hand gently brushed against her back and Molly froze. Even the slightest contact made her heart slam in her chest. "I meant what I said the other night Molly. I don't know what this all means, but I want to."

"But what does that mean?" Molly cried in mock dramatics, making Sherlock smile.

"It means I'll meet you at Angelo's Italian Bistro at 7." He grinned, standing, brushing his hand against her back, and then leaving her office.

She couldn't believe it. She had a date with Sherlock Holmes.


	4. On a Date

**On a date**

Sherlock had never been on a date. At least not knowingly. He had taken a girl out for coffee once at uni, but it wasn't until she tried to kiss him when he walked her back to her dorms that he realised he was on a date. It had been awkward to explain to the poor girl that he had only, in fact, wanted coffee and to talk about the new theorem they had learnt in class. She had been mortified and he had been embarrassed for her.

But tonight he was going on a date. An actual date. He was taking Molly to Angelo's, his favourite place to eat. He was going to sit with Molly, talk about whatever they wanted, then he was going to walk her to a cab, and if it all felt right, he was going to kiss her.

That's what people did on dates, right? He really didn't know.

Sherlock was out of his depth, he knew it. It was time to call in someone more knowledgable, an expert in the field if wooing ladies. He knew he'd regret it, probably never let the phone call down, but he hit the speed dial button for John Watson.

Forgoing a greeting, Sherlock started their conversation with a question. "Is Angelo's a suitable date place?"

John didn't answer right away. Sherlock shocked by the silence, went went to ask the question again, but John cut him off finally, asking "For who?"

"Myself and Molly."

John laughed, legitimately laughed at his friend's response.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Nothing., John finally got his laughter under control, realising Sherlock had called him for a mature discussion. "I just owe Mary 20 quid, is all."

John assured him that Angelo's was a perfect first date location, but that Sherlock should probably get there before time and ask Angelo to seat them at the back of the restaurant, to ensure adequate privacy. He also told Sherlock to order the fancy wine from the special menu and make sure that Angelo got them a candle, because it was more romantic that way.

0o0

Molly knew about Angelo's. It was a tiny little Italian place that offered good food and a casual atmosphere. She also knew how much Sherlock liked it there, he knew the owner and had once commented on the quality of the food offered at the establishment. Somehow, Molly knew that if Sherlock ever asked her out, it would be there.

She dropped her work bag on her couch and went directly to her closet, opening it to search her modest clothing collection for something appropriate. She wasn't that great at dressing herself for occasions, a fact that Sherlock usually never failed to remind her of. Tonight was different... She needed to make an impression. Time to call in reinforcement.

Mary answered on the third ring, but Molly didn't wait for a greeting. "What should I wear in a first date?"

Mary took so long to think that Molly almost repeated the question. "Who's your date with?"

"Sherlock," she admitted. Mary made a victorious noise. "What?"

"John owes me some money." Marry filled in. Molly laughed, it was so like her friends to be betting on their love life. "Where is he taking you?"

"Angelo's." Molly replied, digging through her things.

"Ok, so we are aiming for casual yet still a little sexy." Mary confirmed, then began brainstorming possible combinations.

When they settled upon a dark purple wrap dress that hugged her quite nicely, Molly began to feel the nerves. She promised to call Mary in the morning, then went to the bathroom, ready to wash the day off of her body and prepare for her night with Sherlock.

0o0

Dinner had been delicious and throughout the night, the conversation had flowed as freely as the wine.

He knew it was a cliche, but Molly took his breath away as she had entered the restaurant promptly at 7. Her purple dress accented her feminine physique that she usually kept hidden under baggy sweaters and lab coats. She wore minimal make up (the way he personally liked women) and had done nothing other then release her hair from its ponytail she had worn to work. She was gorgeous.

Teen etiquette lessons with his mother had kicked in, causing him to kiss her gently in the cheek and pull out her chair for her. She looked as nervous as he felt, so he started with a fail safe topic of conversation. Science.

Autopsy procedure led to discussions of new medical findings, which in turn lead to the location of the next W.H.O convention. That got them onto the topic of travel and their conversations turned personal. Childhood, school stories and family anecdotes filled their evening, all topics Sherlock usually found tedious, but with Molly he took an interest in.

His excitement for the evening had given him an appetite, something Molly noticed and commented in as he ordered a main and insisted on sharing a dessert with her.

They were enjoying themselves in each other's company so much that time slipped away from them quickly. It wasn't until the waiters began packing up tables around them that Molly looked at the watch on her delecate wrist. "Oh my, look at the time."

Sherlock checked his phone (he had accidentally acid burnt his watch during an experiment the week before and had not found the time nor had the motivation to repair or replace it). It was in fact late, but he didn't want to leave just yet.

They stayed, chatting, until Angelo approached and told them he had to close up. As usual, Angelo refused to accept payment, so Sherlock lead Molly out into the night air.

They stood awkwardly on the footpath.

"Tonight was..." "I had a great time..."

Both spoke at once, then laughed and looked away nervously.

"I'll hail you a cab?" He asked, a hint of question in his voice. Part of him hoped that she would say no, that she wanted to stay longer, that she wanted to walk with him, but another part of him knew the practical reasons... It was late, she had work in the morning, too much of a good thing.

Molly nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her greatest fear was that if she opened her mouth, even with the intention if agreeing to a cab, she would tell him that she wanted to stay on this date forever. She had managed to get through the whole date so far without saying anything stupid and she wanted to keep it that way.

Sherlock demonstrated his amazing talent for hailing a cab almost instantly. He stepped up and opened the back door, turning to face his pathologist. "Thank you for a wonderful night Molly."

"My pleasure." She said softly, staring up at him. She wore a modest heel, but she was still shorter than him. Another thing he personally liked in a woman he would share an attachment to.

Sherlock looked down at her. This would be the part of the night that John often raved about in his dating days. The goodbye kiss. Anticipation beat like a drum in his chest. Molly had a slight blush on her cheeks that made her extremely endearing. He smiled a little, leant forward, lips at the ready...

The cabbie beeped his horn impatiently. "Gettin' in or not missy?"

Moment ruined, Sherlock plotted fifteen ways to kill the cab driver (fourteen he wouldnt get caught for and one that would be rage fuelled, consequences be damned) before sighing disappointedly. Molly shook her head slightly at the cabbie's terrible timing.

Sherlock kissed her cheek, as close to her lips as he could get without officially classing it as their first kiss. "I'll see you soon, Molly Hooper."

She nodded and crawled into the back of the cab, pulling the door shut. As the cab left the kerb, she smiled up at him through the window, giving a tiny wave.

Sherlock waved back, waiting for her cab to disappear around the corner before he hailed another for himself.


	5. Kissing

**Kissing**

"So?"

The question hung heavy in the air between the two women as Molly cradled her phone between her ear and shoulder. She was in her lab, sterilising her instruments and having her promised post date debrief with Mary.

"So what?" Molly blushed a little, thankful that she was the only one in the lab.

"Your date!" Mary reminded, "with Sherlock!"

Molly laughed, Mary had said his name as though she had been in dates with others recently.

"It was nice." Molly began, it had been a while since she had had a close female friend, so girl talk as still an alien concept.

"And?"

"I had the gnocchi, he had a carbonara." Molly said, knowing that was not what her friend wanted the gossip on. Mary sighed, exasperated.

"Molly." Mary laughed. "Real details! What did you talk about? When are you seeing him again? Did he kiss you?"

Molly gave up on the joking pretence and began grinning uncontrollably. "It was wonderful Mary. We spoke about all sorts of things." She shifted her phone to the other shoulder then moved to lean against the counter. "I don't know when I'll be seeing him again, but he said soon."

"Kisses?" Mary prompted, making a juvenile smooching noise into the phone.

"No." Molly sighed, "I mean, I think he was going to, but the cabbie got grumpy."

Mary laughed. "Successful first date overall?" Molly made a noise of agreement. "I am very happy for you Molly. I know how long you've wanted this."

She was about to reply, to say that it was everything she had ever wanted, and more, when the lab door opened and Lestrade popped his head in. "Gotta go Mary, Greg's here. Call you tonight."

"Sorry to interrupt your phone call Molls." Greg began.

Molly made a dismissing motion with her hand. "It was a personal call to Mary, what you're here for is more important." She lead the way out of the lab and across the hall to the morgue where she picked up a patient clipboard and began busying herself with the details. "We're looking at an accidental poisoning?"

"We have means to believe its not an accident." A lovely baritone voice made her look up from her clipboard and smile at the consulting detective that stood before an open body bag. "Hi Molly."

"Hello Sherlock." She said quietly, barely containing her excitement in seeing him. That was, until she realised what he was doing. "Step away from the corpse Sherlock Holmes! How many times do I have to tell you! you are not allowed to do your own autopsies! Do not make me kick you out of my morgue!"

"I thought it was St. Bart's morgue?" Sherlock shot back playfully. Despite her annoyance that he was breaking morgue policy (again), she smiled. Sherlock stepped aside as Molly began setting up for the autopsy.

"You believe it wasn't an accident?" Molly asked, positioning the body on her morgue table and readying her instruments.

"I am working with the assumption that our victim was injected." Sherlock informed. Molly nodded as she began the procedures.

Sherlock and Greg moved to the side of the morgue to discuss the case as Molly worked her way through the autopsy checklist, searching for everything from organ anomalies to parasites. Nothing was found, so she began searching for possible injection sites. Sherlock donned a pair of gloves and began to help.

Greg's phone rang suddenly and he stepped into the hall to answer it. Molly, who was by the corpse's feet, looked up at Sherlock's who was smiling at her gently. She went back to work.

The sound of Sherlock removing his gloves caught her attention, and the actions that happened after were sudden. Before she had even reached her side, Sherlock's bare hand was on her elbow, pulling her to his chest, holding her close as he had that first night. He grinned cheekily before leaning forward and closing the gap between them.

Molly had no choice but to hold her hands awkwardly away from him to avoid contamination as Sherlock pressed his heavenly lips against hers. She was in shock and unresponsive for a moment before she relaxed, closed her eyes and kissed him back with a matching intensity.

As far as first kisses go, this was one of Molly's best. A tingling sensation that started in her toes sped through her body, warming her delightfully as Sherlock's mouth warred with hers. Her body pressed against hers comfortably, fitting like a puzzle piece.

To compensate for the inactivity of her glove-covered hands, Molly gently nipped at Sherlock's lips, drawing a previously unheard noise from him. Molly beamed.

As suddenly as the kiss started, it stopped. Molly looked dazed as Sherlock took a step back. "That..." He began, then steadied himself. "Is what I wanted to do last night."

Molly went to rip her gloves off in order to continue their new activity, but Sherlock held up a hand to stop her. "Gabe will be back in just a second." He explained. Molly then realised exactly where she was. Right. Of course, the case.

She turned back to the dead body before her as Greg came back in. "Sherlock, that was Donovan. We're needed at the crime scene." He announced. Sherlock, acting as though he hadn't just kissed his pathologist in the morgue, nodded and followed him out.

Molly watched their retreat, the swishing coat of the consulting detective disappearing through the doorway. She exhaled a breath she hadn't even known she was holding.

The morgue door swung open again and Sherlock poked his head back into the room. "May I call you later?"

Molly blinked twice before nodding. Sherlock grinned and left.


	6. Wearing Each Others Clothes

**Wearing each others clothes **

**Subtitled: coats**

Molly let out an involuntary shiver as the cold sunk through the layers of her clothing to the skin beneath. When she had been picked up earlier, the black lace dress and delecate shawl had seemed suitably sexy, but now Molly was filled with regret about her choice of attire (even if she had received extremely complimentary words from Sherlock about it.)

Sherlock and Molly's second date, ten days after their kiss in the morgue (the 'accidental poisoning case' originally thought by Sherlock to be a 5 and a cunning ruse to visit Molly at work had actually turned out to be an 8, so he didn't get a chance to see, or even call her for a while) was to the theatre. Some little known production that was not just asp ting but also singing. The reviews had given it 4 stars, but Molly and the reviewer obviously wouldn't see eye-to-eye.

Of all the places she thought she would go on a date with Sherlock, she never thought the theatre would be an option. He was a cultured gentleman, true enough, but his preferred cultural endeavours were music, not musical theatre. Molly had never been one for the theatre (and she had been to a fair few productions with her mother).

"So..." Sherlock began. They were standing outside the theatre in a situation reminiscent of the conclusion of their first date. "That was terrible."

Molly laughed at his disgusted tone. "It wasn't that bad Sherlock. But I must say, I am surprised, you're not the theatre type."

"A gift from the family of a runaway teen that I saved." He stated. Molly shivered again while listening to his story. "Molly, you're shivering!"

Molly tried to dismiss his concern, but wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. When she looked back up at Sherlock, he was stripping off his large outer coat.

"Sherlock, no. Now you'll be cold!" She protested, but Sherlock was already pushing her arms carefully into his sleeves.

When he was done he looked down at her. The long coat, that usually came to his calf, was almost against the ground on Molly. Her arms were lost in the long sleeves, making it difficult to see her hands. He couldn't help himself and reached out to fold up the coat's collar the way he wore it. Molly smiled.

"Thank you." She grinned, trying to push the sleeves back. Sherlock laughed and helped her fold them back. While doing so, he gave an involuntary shiver. "See! You're cold now!"

He shivered again, pulling his suit jacket around himself a little more, stepping closer to embrace her. Molly opened the coat in an attempt to fit them both inside it. It was no use, he shivered again.

"Shall me go get a coffee and warm up?" Sherlock suggested.

Molly willingly agreed.

0o0

He didn't technically have access to the morgue. And he definitely, technically or otherwise, have access to the chemicals that he had helped himself to, but he was willing to risk an angry Hospital administration in the name of science.

The combination of two of his chemicals was smoking, exactly the desired effect. He had to add one more chemical, then the finger he had stolen from the sample bin to see if the erosion of tissue was consistent with the crime scene he had seen that morning.

He lifted the second beaker to the first before pausing. He was a reckless man, his brother was always to first to tell him that, but there were sometimes he didn't risk safety. He placed the beaker back in its safe location and went on the search for some safety gear.

A pair of goggles was requisitioned from a random desk draw, a lab coat from a coat rack in the corner and a pair of gloves from a box surprisingly labeled 'gloves'. He returned to his experiment, ready to prove his suspicions correct.

Halfway through his experiment the door to the lab swung open. Sherlock froze, looking up suddenly. Molly stood, her hands in her hips. When he said he would risk a angry hospital administration, he hadn't realised he would be this scared of a angry Molly Hooper.

And she looked angry for a moment longer before dissolving into giggles. Sherlock looked stunned at her unusual reaction to him breaking the rules.

"Molly?" He asked suddenly, stepping up to her to see if she was medically struck with hysteria.

Having him near just made her laugh harder. Sherlock was confused to say the least. Molly was trying hard to compose herself by looking away, but each time she looked back, seeing him, she would laugh again.

"Where... Where did you get this lab coat?" She finally managed, her hand coming to rest on his chest, just above his heart.

"The rack in the corner." Sherlock said. "Why? What's so amusing?"

Molly tapped her hand on his chest making Sherlock's gaze travel. He looked down at the white lab coat, embroidered with a little kitten, and the words "Dr. Hooper" in pink, feminine font. He smirked.

"My dad gave this to me, when I graduated as a pathologist." Molly informed.

Sherlock stepped away and immediately began to take it off. "I am sorry, I didn't realise it had a sentimental attachment."

Molly stilled him with her hand. "No, don't worry. I never wear it. As you can tell. It's too big. He got me another one when he realised the mistake."

He pulled the lab coat back onto his shoulders. "I just needed a lab coat, I didn't look for the owner."

Molly grinned. "You are welcome to use it whenever you need." She then moved to his experiment. "Now what are you testing with stolen chemicals?"

This time Sherlock laughed, and made his way to explain what he was testing.


	7. Cosplay

**Cosplay**

"This is unacceptable!"

Greg Lestrade, John Watson and Mike Stamford shared an awkward glance as they watched the consulting detective. He was enraged, bouncing around the small hallway like a pinball, ranting and raving and why?

"Mate, she deserves a day off." Mike began, only to be stopped by Sherlock's withering glare. He stepped back against the wall again, adding quietly. "She's at a convention."

"I only work with Doctor Hooper! " Sherlock repeated for what seemed like the fiftieth time since Sherlock realised that Molly wasn't there to assist his investigations. Greg and John looked at each other, both releasing a sigh at his behaviour.

"Sherlock." Greg tried, approaching carefully. "I know you like to work with Molly, but Mike here had offered..."

"Mike" Sherlock spat. "No, that wont do, not at all. Mike is incompetent."

The three men made a noise of protest, the loudest coming from from Mike himself.

"I only work with Molly!" Sherlock repeated.

"And Molly is on a day off!" John returned, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, "I thought you would have known that, with all time you've been spending together."

"John, I only work with Molly." Sherlock said quietly. John rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that sometimes Sherlock was like a child when he didn't get her way.

"How about I give her a call?" John sighed, knowing that he was at a stalemate, and that if they were going to get anywhere on this case, he may have to call Molly in on her day off. "But if Molly says no... You're working with Mike."

0o0

The doors to the morgue swung open making all of the men look up. All four of them, Mike, Greg, John and Sherlock looked relieved. Molly entered nervously, a nervousness that none of them had seen in her in years.

She looked beautiful. There was a light amount of makeup at her face (enough to accentuate her features) and her hair was loose around her shoulders. Wrapped tightly around her was a trench coat which ended midway down her stockinged calves.

"You look nice Molly." Greg said with an air of breathlessness, gaining him a snarl from Sherlock. Molly giggled nervously, not quite sure where to look,

"Thanks for coming in on your day off Molly." John added. He felt amazingly guilty, obviously Molly had been at an important event.

"That's ok." She smiled weakly. "I can always go back to the convention later."

"What convention has a dress code like this?" Sherlock asked, stepping closer. He looked her over from head to toe, deducing her, then started laughing. Molly blushed more, turning a brilliant shade of red. "Really?"

"Shut up!" Molly mumbled. Sherlock continued laughing, but reached out to squeeze her hand (under the table, out of site of the other men, of course.)

She began preparing herself for the autopsy, pulling her hair out of her face and securing it. When she went to put her gloves on, she found it difficult to move due to her coat.

"I am sure this will be so much easier if you take off your coat Molly." Sherlock suggested playfully.

"Shut. Up!" She growled. Sherlock laughed again, the other men in the room were trapped somewhere between amused and confused.

The most frustrating thing for Molly was that he was right. Her coat was going to get in the way. In order to complete the autopsy, she would have to take the coat off.

"Ok" she sighed, then turned to look at each of the men individually. "I will have to take my coat off, but if any one of you say anything about my costume..."

"Costume?" Greg whispered, stunned.

"...I will kill you and make it look like an accident." She concluded.

The men, not sure what to say, nodded dumbly. Molly took a deep breath, undid her trench, and removed quickly. Molly wore a short black skirt and a long sleeved white button down. Over that, a tight black vest with the word 'police' across it. John looked away out of respect, Greg exhaled suddenly and Mike suddenly got more colour in his cheeks.

Sherlock glared at all of them, moving at the speed of sound to grab a lab coat to cover her. It had all been a joke to him, until he realised that Molly was planning on calling his bluff and taking off her coat. He had deduced what type of convention she had been at, but had not deduced that her outfit would be so skimpy (and sexy).

"Molly?" John began. "Exactly what convention were you at when I called you?"

She blushed and mumbled her answer before excusing herself to the store room.

"What?" John asked.

"She was a WhoCon, John." Sherlock repeated her earlier words. "London's biggest Doctor Who Convention."


	8. Shopping

**Shopping...**

"I thought it was..." Sherlock paused, searching for the words as he strolled alongside Molly outside of Bart's. "...cute!"

Molly scoffed pulling her trench tighter around her. She had taken off the police vest and untucked her shirt, and while she was still uncomfortable about the length of her skirt, she felt a little better about the situation, especially considering she had gotten out of it with only a slight level of embarrassment. "I was dressed as a kiss-o-gram Sherlock. In front of my boss, a colleague, a friend and you!"

Sherlock shook his head. He was having trouble understanding her reasoning. He was by nature a selfish man, and if he was doing something he enjoyed, he never would have left it, no matter how many times someone called him. "Why did you come in to work then?"

Molly answer flowed from her as though the words were obvious. "Because you needed me."

Sherlock paused, and in that moment realised that just as she would drop everything for him, he would drop everything for her. Sherlock reached out, taking her by the elbow and pulling her into a hug. It was unusual for him to do so, but he had an overwhelming need to touch her after her kind words. "I am sorry I ruined your convention."

"You didn't ruin anything Sherlock." She grinned up at him, standing straighter to press a kiss against his cheek. Molly went to move away, only to be pulled back against his body. Sherlock lowered his lips to hers, pressing a gentle kiss against her willing mouth. They had been moving slowly on the romance front. There had only been one other kiss between them, their first in the morgue, but Molly was happy that she finally had the chance to do this again.

Their moment was ruined by someone accidentally jostling them in an attempt to walk past. Molly then realised exactly were they were sharing their second kiss. The middle of the footpath. She smiled softly, pulling away and taking Sherlock by the coat sleeve, pulling him along. "Come on."

He allowed himself to be playfully dragged for a few meters before he twisted his hand so it was holding hers. He twined their fingers together, making Molly smile as she pulled him into a grocery store.

Molly picked up a basket as Sherlock blinked in the harsh fluorescent lights. "What do you feel like for dinner?"

"Nothing" he sighed. Molly glared at him, and to avoid a speech about the importance of nutrition, he replied, "Fine, take away."

Molly gestured with her basket (her other hand still in Sherlock's) "Sherlock, we are at a grocery store, I intend on cooking. What do you want?"

He was shocked. "You're going to cook for me?"

"I enjoy cooking Sherlock" Molly smiled, moving them towards the fresh produce section. "My father..."

"Was a great cook, and he taught you everything you knew. Your favour meal of his was pancakes." Sherlock stated in a bored tone of a man who had heard the story a million times before from clients. Molly shook her head at him. "Everyone's favourite meal with their dad is pancakes."

"Well mine isn't." Molly replied, putting two tomatoes into the basket. "Mine is a Mediterranean vegetable frittata... You know what, I am going to make it for you."

"Don't go to too much trouble." Sherlock muttered. Others had cooked for him before, obviously, John and mrs Hudson and his mother, but the idea of Molly cooking for him seemed romantic and intimate. She was such a good person, and for some reason the idea of her preparing dinner for him made him feel like he was going to stuff it up.

Like always, Molly relaxed him with the most simplistic of gestures. A kiss on the cheek and the assurance of "I like cooking. I miss cooking. I want to cook."

He followed her around, chatting as she filled the basket with vegetables for dinner. From the selection, Sherlock could already tell it was going to be delicious. When they were done in the produce section, Molly led the way to the pre-packaged spices ("Not as good as fresh, I know, but this Mediterranean spice blend just makes life so much easier.")

"Molly!"

She turned at the sound of her name to see one of her old university friends, "Fiona! Hi! I haven't see you since uni!"

The two women embraced, showing Sherlock that while they were not currently close, they had had a close friendship during their uni days. "Yeah, I've been busy, just back from Medecins Sans Frontieres."

Fiona pulled away, looking over Molly's shoulder to eye Sherlock. She looked at Molly, then back at Sherlock with a knowing smile.

"Oh sorry." Molly grinned, following her friend's gaze. "Fiona Davis, this is Sherlock Holmes, my..." Molly paused. What exactly was Sherlock? They hadn't had the conversation to define what this was. She giggled nervously and just repeated his name. "Sherlock Holmes."

Fiona grinned in a way that communicated to Molly that she was impressed with her choice of man. "Well, it was great meeting you, Sherlock. Fantastic to see you Molly. I'll give you a call at Bart's when I get settled and we'll do lunch."

Molly was still staring after her friend when Sherlock suddenly asked. "Why did you hesitate?"

"What?" Upon turning to him, Molly realised that Sherlock was standing straighter, his jaw was set firmer, and the joking man she had been flirting with earlier was gone.

Sherlock was obviously working hard to manage his emotion."When you introduced me? Why didn't you say 'boyfriend'?"

"Is that what you are?" Molly enquired. She was confused as to why this situation was making him angry.

"Is that what I am?" He doubled the question back into her,

Molly attempted a different attack. "Do you see yourself as my boyfriend?"

He twisted her words again. "Do you see me as your boyfriend?"

"Sherlock!" Molly sighed, exasperated, they were fighting, but she had absolutely no idea why. She took a deep breath and reached out for his hand. He didn't pull away, so Molly guessed that was a good sign. "I didn't say the word for a few reasons. I wasn't sure that's actually what we are, for one. We haven't defined this,"

He looked comically offended, but Molly managed to not laugh. Laughing would be the wrong thing in this situation, she knew. "We go out of our way to spend time together. We kiss on busy streets."

"I know that. Sherlock, I know what I want this to be, but I can't read you the way you read me. You have said, many times before, that you don't do relationships. To me, this is a relationship, the hanging out and the dates and the kissing on the street. But who knows what it is to you." She said sadly.

At her tone, Sherlock felt instantly guilty. She was right, he hadn't been entirely forthcoming with emotions. Their slow burn of romance and his general flippant attitude would be hard for Molly sometimes. "It's a relationship."

"Good." Molly grinned. It was good to hear the words. "Second reason I didn't say the word Sherlock, is because of the word itself. Boyfriend." She made a face suggesting general disgust for the word.

"You don't like the word boyfriend?"

"It's just so... We're in our 30s." Molly shrugged. "Boyfriend sounds like I am meeting you in the uni library between classes for a quick grope."

Sherlock looked genuinely confused. Molly was concerned until he mumbled his question, sounding appalled. "Why would anyone grope in the library? It's a place of learning!"

"Do you see my point through?" Molly laughed at his reaction. "About the word?"

"I guess." Sherlock sighed, taking the full basket from her hands. Together they started moving towards the checkout. "I've never been anyone's boyfriend though."

"Never?"

Sherlock's voice was even as he stated the information factually. "Not ever."

Sherlock began unloading the basket when Molly had a revelation. "Sherlock? Do you want to be my boyfriend?" She paused to clarify. "Like, do you want to be known as my boyfriend?"

He continued the transaction, swiping his credit card, considering. "Not if you hate it."

Molly smiled, pressing yet another kiss to his cheek, "I'd learn to love it, for you."

Molly Hooper was far to good for him.


	9. Hanging With Friends

**So I got a bit flexible with the "hanging with friends" option, and the friends are not actually seen in it. also sorry this chapter is a little short, but I busy with work stuff. I am going to try angecko tinge to do one a day for the next few days though. They might just be shorter.**

**0o0**

**Hanging with Friends. **

"Oh yay, there are people in my house." Sherlock mumbled as he came out of his bedroom, fresh from a shower.

"Don't be like that Sherlock." Molly chastised lightly, putting the bottles of wine that John had given her into the fridge. Their guests: the Watsons, Greg and Mrs. Hudson were all gathered in the living room, chatting over a chip and dip platter.

"But why?" He whinged.

"I told you." Molly smiled, squeezing his hand and keeping her voice low so that the living room full of guests could not hear her. "It's what people do to cel..."

"I don't want to!" Sherlock moaned, and Molly giggled. She had had a clear mental image of Sherlock stomping his foot like a toddler. He smiled innocently at her and changed his face in the way he always used to when he wanted to manipulate her. "I just want to have a quiet with you."

"That's sweet." Molly dismissed. Now that she was his girlfriend she would not be falling for the same stuff she used to. "But they're here."

"Send them away!" He grumbled.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, that's rude."

"So? Hey I know..." He leant forward conspiratorially, stroking her arm. "Lets sneak out... Just you and me, we can go to that wine bar that you've been semi-obnoxiously dropping hints about"

Molly smiled at the lengths Sherlock would go to to avoid a social situation. "We can't."

"Sure we can, sneak out the kitchen's side door and disappear into the night." He took her by the arm and pulled her towards the door.

She laughed and slapped his arm. She adored this playful side of the man that she thought she knew so well. "Sherlock!"

"Fine." He released an exasperated sigh and leant against the hallway wall. Molly went back to her business, moving around the room. On occasion, she'd look up at him, surprised to see that he was staring at her lazily.

"What?"

He crooked his finger at her, signalling her to come closer. Molly smiled as she closed the gap, coming around the kitchen table to start in front of him. Sherlock's hand moved to her her cheek, stroking is softly before he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his.

The rational part of Molly knew that he was attempting to distract her, to continue his manipulation using his lips and tongue. The irrational part of her really didn't care. She only cared about his hands on her hips, her body pressed against her and his mouth doing amazing things to her.

Sherlock turned so that he had Molly trapped between the wall and himself. His hands stroked her side and soon his lips left hers to kiss down her neck.

"What's gotten into you?" Molly whispered, looking awkwardly over Sherlock's head to the door of the living room. There was a room full of guest just on the other side of that wall.

Sherlock pulled back, his face a twisted in a look of artificial hurt which barely masked his actual, victorious look. "Can't I kiss my girlfriend in the privacy of my own hallway?"

Molly giggled breathlessly. She was still being pressed against the wall by Sherlock's body. "Not very private."

He kissed her again, another deep, passionate kiss that made Molly clutch at his biceps. "Then lets go to my room."

"Stop trying to distract me, Sherlock Holmes!" She gasped, hitting him gently and disentangling herself from his captive arms. She knew that if she didn't put a physical distance between the two of them at that very minute then their embrace would continue and she soon would be taking him up in his invitation to join him on the bedroom. As she stepped away she straightened out her skirt and tried desperately to regain her composure.

Sherlock couldn't help but grin at her disheveled state. If he had managed to get one more kiss in, he was sure she would have let him skip out on this godforsaken party. In fact, he still wanted to leave. He took a breath, prepared to speak, when Molly held up her hand to silence him,

"Sherlock Holmes!" She said firmly. "You are not leaving! You are celebrating your birthday with your friends and that is final!"


	10. With Animal Ears

**With Animal Ears**

The door opened on a frazzled looking woman, balancing on one foot as she wedged her other into a high heel. This was Katherine, Molly's sister-in-law. "Thank you so so much for doing this Molly, you're a lifesaver."

"It's nothing, really." Molly said as she stepped into the foyer, pulling Sherlock in after her. She had volunteered them to babysit Molly nephews to give Katherine and Dean, her brother, a chance for a night out. "Where are the boys? I want them to meet Sherlock."

Katherine stood at the bottom of the stairs and unceremoniously bellowed up them. "Boys, Aunt Molly is here!"

Sherlock hear them before he saw them, a stampede of footsteps that suddenly manifested itself as two little brunette boys at the top of the stairs. When they saw Molly, their faces lit up and they barrelled dangerously down to her, hugging her with such force that she stumbled and almost fell. Molly regained herself and giggled. "Oh, here are my little monsters, I mean, nephews."

The boys immediately started to wrestle each other on the floor. Molly stepped over them into the kitchen, and while it was unusual to ignore two fighting boys, Sherlock did the same.

They entered a large warm kitchen when Molly asked. "Where's Brent?"

The boys (twins, Sherlock deduced) both yelled in perfect unison, "In his room reading that stupid monkey book again!"

Katherine seemed to ignore her son's words. "Ok, so dinner should be ready for the boys in about half an hour." She directed that comment at Molly, then turned her attention to her sons. "Then one movie, baths and bed, understand. My orders." she turned to yell through the house again. "Dean, come on, we'll be late. Call if you need anything." And then quickly, as though she was worried that something would stop her, she was out the door and heading to the car.

There was a quick blur and a "Hi Molls, bye Molls" as Dean ran after his wife, obviously trying to avoid his three sons.

The twins looked up at Sherlock inquisitively. "Who's this?

"Is is my boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes." Molly told them, squeezing Sherlock's hand. She had never seen Sherlock interact with little kids, but considering he was a man that usually shied away from all social situations, she assumed he was uneasy. "Sherlock, these are the twin terrors Tate and Cooper."

The twins immediately began pushing each other and bickering. "Ask him!" "No, you ask him."

Finally one of them, Cooper, hit the other so hard that he conceded, turning to Sherlock to ask. "Where's your hat?"

"I don't usually wear a hat." Sherlock said, trying not to show how much he hated being asked about that bloody piece of clothing. "Hardly ever actually."

Cooper puffed out his chest and said. "Then why are there so many pictures of you in that stupid hat?"

Sherlock sighed, "Because small minded society wants everything to conform to recognisable forms so that people feel that they have nothing to fear. The hat started as a necessity and then became a social construct in which society sees..."

The sounds of giggling as the twins ran away made Sherlock realise he had bored them. Not that he cared. He looked around the kitchen and for the first time realised that Molly was also gone. Not for long though, as she entered seconds later, holding another young boy. The boy, who looked to be about 2, wore a t-shirt with a smiling monkey on it, a belt with a fabric monkey tail and a headband with cute little monkey ears. In one hand, the one hanging over Molly's opposite shoulder, he held a book about monkeys that was far too advanced for his age. This kid really liked monkeys.

"Hey Sherlock. This is my littlest nephew Brent." Molly smiled. "Say hello Brent." Brent took in the strange man before him before burying his head in Molly's neck. "He's shy."

"Cos he's a boring little baby." Tate called from the doorway where he and his brother stood. "All he wants to do is pretend he's a monkey."

At the word monkey, Brent began to laugh in what Sherlock would call a pretty accurate impression of a monkey. Sherlock couldn't help but grin.

His face fell, however, when Cooper said,"See, what a freak." Although he was probably to young to understand, Brent's face fell a little bit too.

"Can I look at your book Brent?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the silly boys in the doorway. Brent looked at the stranger saying his name, and then held out the book with two hands. "I can, thank you sir. Wow, this looks like an interesting monkey book. Want to read it with me?"

Sherlock sat at the table, and Molly, grinning from ear to ear, placed Brent in the high hair beside him. Sherlock flipped through the book slowly, speed reading its pages while Brent just looked at the pictures. Occasionally the child would mumble something, or make a noise that sounded like a monkey, which made Sherlock smile.

He turned the page again and little Brent clapped with glee. "Spider monkey."

Sherlock read him all the information about spider monkeys, learning a few things himself, before turning the page. As he did, he felt a hand on his arm and stopped, looking to Brent, who was holding out his monkey ears. Sherlock looked at the item before realising...

"You'd like me to wear these? Ok, but I think I'd look pretty silly." Sherlock made a silly face, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes once he had put on the monkey ears, which made Brent laugh.

Sherlock turned the page, but realised that Brent was paying more attention to him than what he was the book now, "Don't listen to your brothers. They don't understand how cool monkeys are." Sherlock began, adjusting the band that the monkey ears were on as it squeezed his head uncomfortably. "I have a brother, and growing up, he never understood how cool pirates were. His loss really, because pirates are great, just like monkeys. Hey, did you know that some pirates had moneys on their ships, kind of like pets?"

Brent clapped again. "Monkey monkey!"

Sherlock laughed.

Molly had returned to the kitchen under the guise of organising dinner, but really, she had been standing back and watching her man as he interacted with Brent. He hadn't seemed to like the twins, mainly because they had the tendency to be little brats, but Brent was different, she realised. Brent was very much like Sherlock, and that was probably why he was at the table talking about monkeys with him. Brent was just a passionate little boy with a love of monkeys, just as Sherlock was a passionate man with a love of murders.

Molly wondered, not for the first time, what it had been for Sherlock growing up. Sherlock had just said that Mycroft didn't appreciate pirates the way he did, and if Sherlock had been as one-track minded about pirates as he was about deductions later in his life, then it was possible that a young Sherlock and his brother would have had very little in common. (Not that they had much now). Had Sherlock had any other friends? At school or in the local area? Molly hoped so, because the idea of a little, lonely Sherlock Holmes made his heart heavy.

The oven dinged, making her jump. "Boys, dinner."

The twins came tearing into the room and dove into their seats at the dinner table. They looked form their brother to Sherlock, who were still looking at pictures of monkeys together. Cooper rolled his eyes.

"Aunty Molly, Mum says no monkey ears at the table." Tate said smugly, pointing at Sherlock.

Molly waved past, placing a bowl of vegetables on the table. She stopped to kiss Sherlock on the side of the head, and then did the same to Brent.

"Well tonight we make an exception."


	11. Wearing a Onesie

**Wearing a Onesie...**

_Just finished up the bush walker case, it was the neighbour. Can I come over? SH_

_I'd love that, but you can't. I am really sick. xMolly._

0o0

Every muscle in Molly's body ached. Her nose was both running and stuffy at the same time and her throat was sore and inflamed. Her headache, thank goodness, had downgraded itself from a pounding to a dull ache between her eyes. She hadn't felt this crappy in all of her recent memory.

She made a pitiful noise as she threw her phone back in the general direction of the coffee table and snuggled down into her couch cushions again.

Molly hated being sick. It was her least favourite thing ever, and she hated it even more now, considering it was stopping her from seeing Sherlock. He had been called away on the bush walker case about an hour after they had put the boys to bed on their babysitting night, and as was usual with cases, she had not seen him since. That was a week ago.

The texts they had sent had been a constant reminder of their affection for each other but honestly, Molly hated every one of them. Sure, they let her know that he was safe, but you couldn't hug a text message.

And now her body's terrible timing came into play. She had awoken with a sore throat the previous morning and thought nothing if it. By that lunch time she had a raging temper and more snot then she cared to mention.

Of course Sherlock would be off his case now.

Molly turned back to her movie, content to nap through it hopefully recover so that she could see Sherlock by the end of the weekend. She blew her nose again, throwing her tissue into the ever growing sea of white on her floor.

she was woken from her doze on the couch by someone knocking in the door. Molly considered ignoring it, but the knocking sounded again. She groan and heavier herself up, picking up her tissue box for the journey. She shuffled to the door and peeked through the peephole.

"Sherlock?" She sighed, "I thought I told you to stay away! I am sick."

"Let me in Molly." He demanded lightly. Molly decided to be selfish and opened the door for him to enter.

Sherlock, arms filled with bags and packages, stepped over the threshold and pressed a small bouquet of yellow flowers into her hand. Molly grinned and watched him as he went into the kicthen.

"Now, I don't know what type of sick you are exactly." He began, unloading the bags onto the counter. "You weren't very specific. But I got you Cold and Flu tablets, cough syrup and some lozenges."

Molly didn't know what to say.

"I also got you some more tissues." He said, looking through to the living room and the pile of used ones. "And it looks like That was a good choice."

From the next bag he removed a large container. Even through Molly's blocked nose she could tell its contents.

"Chicken Noodle Soup?" She asked, moving beside him.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "The Internet led me to believe that soup is customary in situations like this and that chicken noodle would be appropriate for someone that is ill. And if you feel up to it later, I also got some sweets for desert."

Molly was overwhelmed. Through her pain and sickness she suddenly felt the need to cry. She was so touched by his actions, bringing her medication and soups and presents. Tearing up, she did her best to not meet Sherlock's gaze.

"Did I do something wrong?" Sherlock asked suddenly. "Is this the wrong soup or...?"

"You did perfectly." Molly replied. "Thank you."

She went to kiss his cheek as a gesture of thanks, but thought better of it as she was probably still contagious. Sherlock shook his head and lent down to kiss her anyway. Molly pulled away, "You'll get sick."

"No I won't." He said matter-a-factly. He placed his hands on Molly's shoulders and pushed her back towards the living room. "Now, what are we watching?"

"Some chick flick Mary leant me." Molly sighed as she collapsed back into the cushions. Even just standing for a short amount of time in the kitchen with Sherlock had exhausted her.

Sherlock looked stern. "I draw the line at that."

She laughed and handed him the remote. Sherlock accessed her hard drive and started going through the movies and television shows before settling onto something that they would both enjoy (although he was sure Molly would be asleep within ten minutes.)

Sherlock glanced across at her. Even with disheveled hair and a red, raw nose, Molly Hooper was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He had seen her at her best and now, at her worst, and he could hardly tell a difference because she was always beautiful and radiant. Whether she be dressed up glamourously or wearing...

"Molly? What are you wearing?"

She glanced down at her pyjamas. Any other day she would have blushed and stammered and left the room, but today, she didn't care. She didn't care that Sherlock would think she was an absolute dag, or if he would find her unattractive or dull... She was sick and she wanted to be comfortable.

"This, Sherlock Holmes, is a onesie."


	12. Making Out

**Terribly short and hopefully fluffy. some light (and I mean really light) mention of sexual activity)**

**0o0**

**Making Out**

"Never?"

Molly leant against the armrest of the couch, a wine glass in her hand. Sherlock, at the other end of the couch took another sip from his own glass. The bottle sat on the coffee table in front of them (and there was an empty one on the kitchen bench.)

They had finally gone to the wine bar Molly had been talking about. After an expensive appitiser of little food in the pretentious establishment, they had both agreed to forgo their reservation. Their walk home had consisted of picking up some fish and chips and a few bottles of cheaper, tastier wine at the off licence.

"Never" Sherlock confirmed. Not a strong drinker, he had to admit that he was feeling the effects of the alcohol. His cheeks were warmed and his head a bit fuzzy, the beginnings of what he had felt at John's stag do. Molly was holding her own, but her cheeks were starting to stain an endearing pink.

Molly grinned at him over the top of her wine glass. "But really... Never?"

Wine had mad them bold, and conversation had turned intimate. Currently, they were discussing the concept of 'making out', a topic that had been brought forth when Molly had made a joke about this being their fifth date with no real action.

"Molly, you're my first ever girlfriend" Sherlock reminded her, rolling his eyes a little at her disbelief. "So of course, never."

Molly refilled her empty glass and reached out to too up Sherlock's. He had only a second of hesitation before he nodded and accepted the offered wine.

Molly cocked her head to the side and asked her question again. "You've really, never, made out with someone."

Sherlock understood her disbelief. A grown man with the sexual experience of a pre-teen, but he kind of wished she would take less of an interest in it. He was never one to feel embarrassed, but if her line of questioning was to continue to where he deduced it would, he would be rather embarrassed indeed. "Never Molly."

Molly nodded, taking in his words, then her face changed. There is was, she had made the realisation, which meant the question was soon to follow. "So does that mean you've never... You know?."

Sherlock smirked. That had not been as bad as he thought it would, mainly because he was taken aback by Molly's adorable inability to say the words herself. "If I've never made out with a girl, do you really think that I would have had..."

"Right." Molly interrupted. She was pensive for a second while she sipped at her wine. "Do you want to?"

Sherlock's eyes went suddenly wide. "Have..."

"No!" Molly said firmly, then paused as she realised how her words had sounded. "Eventually but..I meant, do you want to make out with someone..." Molly said. Her words registered again and she blushed. The wine was making it difficult for her to articulate. "Specifically me?"

"I do." Sherlock grinned, placing his wine glass on the table. He was an inexperienced man, but he was open to the idea of experimenting, especially with something that seemed like it would be mutually pleasurable. "But what does the process usually entail?"

"Really?" Molly paused. When she had realised that he had never made out with a woman, Molly had been sure that his inquisitive mind would have at least done prior research on the topic.

"Ok, so it would start with kissing and then it would continue on to some more kissing." Molly laughed, placing her glass beside his on the coffee table.

Sherlock looked sceptical. "Kissing? That's it?"

"Pretty much. Maybe a little bit of touching. Holding each other close, that type of thing." Molly replied. "You don't seem impressed."

"Quite the contrary." He grinned, moving so he was now in the middle of the couch. Molly did the same, shuffling forward so that she was side on to him. Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her as close to him as he could. He kissed her then, a deep, passionate kiss that made her bring her hands to his cheeks.

"That sounds like the most fun anyone could have."


	13. Ice Cream

**Oh no! I missed a day! Sorry everyone!**

**Ice cream**

Molly could have sworn she had ice cream in her freezer.

Ice cream was her only other junk food vice (along with microwave popcorn) and she was sure that there was a carton of it in the freezer at all times. It was the only thing, without fail, that she replenished without forgetting.

Ice cream was a tradition. Her father, whom she missed dearly, used to always say "ice cream fixes everything." Most of Molly's lasting memories if her father centred around ice cream. The first time she fell off her bike, the first time a boy had broken her heart, the time he had lost his job and the day they had found out about the cancer. Ice cream had been there on all those days.

Molly knew it was sad, but ice cream was like a dear friend, she didn't eat much of it really. Just a spoonful at the end of a long day was enough of a comfort.

That's why it was unusual that there was none in the house. Molly set herself a reminder to get more on the way home.

0o0

"So..." Molly called from the bedroom as she finished putting the finishing touches in her outfit. "What do you want to eat tonight."

Sherlock opened the freezer and took out the ice cream, opening it and spooning two large scoops into his mouth. He ate them quickly, wincing at the brain freeze. "Whatever."

He returned the ice cream container to the freezer.

0o0

Three days later, Molly had a day that called for copious amounts of ice cream.

Kicking off her shoes at the front door, Molly tried not to think of the horrors she had seen in her morgue that day. There had been an incident on the tube resulting in an alarming number of casualties. Molly he been run off of her feet, and just as she thought herself and her colleagues were getting in top of things, a new wave of bodies flooded in.

She opened the freezer, and took out the ice cream and frowned. The carton seemed alarmingly light. She tested its weight again before taking off the lid. There was hardly any left.

How was this possible? It had been a full carton the day before yesterday.

Molly sighed and ate what remained before binning the container. Had she eaten the rest of it and merely forgotten about it?

No, that was impossible. With the exception if sleep walkers, people just didn't forget about eating a whole container if ice cream. Plus, if she had done so, the scales would have informed her of it (She had weighed herself that morning and was doing well.)

She had a mystery on her hands, time to call in a detective.

0o0

"You wish to employ me?"

"Uh huh." Molly grinned. "I've had something very precious stolen from me."

"You have?" Sherlock's concern was sweet as he reached out a hand to hers. "What is it?"

"It's going to sound weird" she began, trying to keep a straight face. "But there is an ice cream thief in my neighbourhood."

"An... Ice cream... Thief?"

"Yep." Molly nodded, slipping up and smiling at him. "You see, I keep buying it, and it keeps disappearing."

"Disappearing, you say." Sherlock mused. "Do you have any suspects?"

Molly jumped to her feet and imitate his deduction stance, her face turned serious and she launched into a full, Sherlock style run down. "I believe the culprit is right under my nose. It is someone who has access to my flat, since there is no signs of forced entry and nothing, other than the ice cream is missing. That narrows the list down considerably. Two suspects in fact: Toby the house cat..." She paused dramatically, extending her arm out to point at him, "and you! Sherlock Holmes!"

He stood and moved to her, wrapping her into his arms. "And what is your evidence."

"I deduce..." Again, another pause for effect. "That the person responsible for this heinous crime is a male, approximately 6 foot tall, with opposable thumbs. I further believe that the culprit is a consulting detective by trade and a secret ice cream lover."

"Guilty." Sherlock smiled. "I am sorry, I was going to replace it, and it kept slipping my mind."

She reached up and kissed him gently. "It's alright... But just know how much I love ice cream."

0o0

The next day, Molly's day off, she was interrupted from her reading by a knock at the door.

On the other side stood a delivery man. "Are you Molly Hooper, ma'am?"

"I am..." She said, the man handed her a large, insulted box, then turned and left.

Molly took the box into the kitchen, intrigued, and opened it. One of every ice cream flavour from the shop was in the box.

The attached note read "To the ice cream detective. Enjoy. From, your thief."


	14. Joking Around

**Chapter 14 is suppose to be gender swapped, but I honestly had no ideas for it and wouldn't even know how to get started on it, so I am substituting this one (joking) in instead, hope you don't mind. **

**0o0**

**Joking Around**

It was taking a while, but Molly was finally getting used to dating a celebrity.

Now that Sherlock was back and restored to his former glory, the blog was back online, meaning everyone was back to reading about his adventures on a daily basis. Sherlock Holmes was front page news again.

Which meant so was Molly, by association.

The first time Molly's photograph was printed in the paper, it was an unintrusive shot of herself and Sherlock holding hands as they left a grocery store. It was taken at a distance without her knowledge, posing no harm to herself or Sherlock. She had laughed it off, along with its absurd headline 'They found love in a hatless place.' ("Sherlock Holmes, online detective was seen without his trademark hat on the weekend. Maybe his new love, Doctor Hooper, likes his luscious curls...")

The second time her photograph was taken was not a joke. Molly had left through the staff exit at the back of Bart's after her shift one night and the paparazzi had been waiting. Flash bulbs blinded her as the men aggressively pushed their cameras into her face. She shielded her eyes and was about to run back inside when a Mike suddenly took her and ushered her into his waiting car.

After that Sherlock released a statement on the website, saying that he appreciated their interest, but he wanted them to back off, as he didn't want any harm to come to Molly. It worked, and now, other than the occasional distanced photograph and the amazing amount of people who just sat and stared, people were less aggressive in their interest.

There was someone staring at them now. Molly had noticed it the moment she and sherlock had sat down in the cafe. At a table in the corner of the coffee shop, an elderly woman tapped the shoulder of her husband and gestured in their direction. The elderly man smiled and went back to his coffee, but the lady just kept staring.

Molly tried to ignore it, but the lady was just watching them. It was a little unnerving.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, oblivious to his surroundings as usual but picking up on her growing discomfort.

"Nothing." She smile weakly, making a dismissing motion with her hand. "We're being stared at... Don't look" she stopped him as he went to turn around.

"Are they a threat?" Sherlock asked playfully.

Molly grinned. She was glad that Sherlock knew exactly what to say to put her at ease in every anxious situation. "No, just a fan. An older couple, harmless, just staring..."

Sherlock stretched carefully and looked covertly over his shoulder at the couple. When he turned back to her, he cursed lightly.

"What?" Molly asked. "Are they a threat?"

"Not necessarily." Sherlock sighed. "You were right, fans. My biggest fans to be precise."

Molly was lost. Sherlock's demeanour had physically changed from the moment he had seen the couple. She was worried that she should be worried. Her original interpretation of the situation was that they were harmless, but if Sherlock was rattled, she wondered if she was about to be involved in a situation.

"Are they heading over yet?" Sherlock asked suddenly. Molly glanced up at the couple. The woman was gathering her handbag, the man, while apprehensive, was also preparing to leave.

"They're leaving." Molly informed him. Sherlock glanced around the cafe, there was only one way out, and that was past his table,

"Via us." Sherlock sighed in defeat. He took a steadying breath, then smiled his brightest smile, stood and intercepted the path of the couple. "We're you really going to leave without saying hello?"

The woman smiled lightly and looked over her shoulder to her husband, who had a sweet, inviting smile that was oddly familiar. Molly watched their interaction carefully, trying to work out exactly what she had missed. Trying to gauge if this couple was in fact a threat,

"We didn't want to interrupt." The man replied.

Sherlock shook the older man's hand as he said "Nonsense Dad, you're not interrupting."

Molly tried to not let her jaw drop. Dad? That would make the woman...

"Take a seat Mum." Sherlock offered, holding out a chair. "Do you have time for another cup of tea?"

Mr Holmes checked his watch and nodded, coming around the table and sitting at the fourth chair.

There was a pause, which Mrs Holmes broke with a simple reminder. "Introductions, Sherlock."

"Right!" He smiled. "Mum, Dad, this is my girlfriend Molly. Molly, these are my parents: Violet and Siger Holmes."

"Pleasure to meet you." Molly smiled awkwardly. She was more frightened now than what she had been when she had thought that she was facing a dangerous situation, She had never been good at meeting parents of her boyfriends. The situation made her awkward and uneasy and she always ended up saying something silly and making a terrible first impression. or even if she did get through it without putting her foot in her mouth, there was always the inevitable awkwardnes that would come from a partner's parents disgust at her occupation.

Siger seemed to be the strong silent type, since he was yet to say anything since he sat down. Bit hard to really, since from the moment Violet had sat down, she had been speaking, mile a minute, reminding Molly of the way Sherlock acted when he was excited or deducing.

The Holmes' were visiting London for a few appointments, and were staying with Mycroft. They had intended on calling Sherlock but knew from the news and the blog just how busy he was (at this point Violet eyed Molly, making Siger smirk.)

Molly felt at ease with Sherlock's parents almost immediately, even when the conversation inevitably turned to her. They were genuinely interested in her and not at all put off by her occupation and interests, which made Molly relax even further.

"I am glad we bumped into you today." Violent grinned. "I've been looking forward to meeting you finally Molly. We are very happy that our son found you... I was beginning to lose hope that my sons would ever marry."

"Mum, please." Sherlock said nervously.

"Hush son, don't be embarrassed."

But Sherlock was embarrassed, and he could tell by the colour that was spreading through Molly's cheeks that she was embarrassed too. Violet, impervious to their shame, continued.

"Oh, and babies!" She smiled. "Have you discussed children? I am not rushing you, but you're not getting any younger Sherlock."

Siger cleared his throat. "Calm down Vi, they've only been dating a few months."

"But when you know, you know." Violet smiled. "It's never too soon to plan a life together. Marriage and three or four babies would suit you Molly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Molly retreated even more into her tea cup. Four children! Molly wasn't sure where she even sat on the idea of one child, and there was Mrs. Holmes asking how soon they were going to get working on four! They hadn't even been dating that long and there was still a lot of ground to cover before she even considered children together.

Then Siger started laughing. It was a deep, infectious laugh so very much like Sherlock's. Molly looked to him in surprise, then to Violet, who released a slight giggle.

"She's just teasing you dear." Siger grinned, patting Molly on the back of the hand. "Vi has an unusual sense of humour."

"I'll say, she named her children Sherlock and Mycroft." Sherlock laughed humourlessly. "You ready to go Molly?"

"Oh, don't be like that Sherlock!" Vi giggled. "I was only joking."

"And now we're only leaving." He grumbled. Molly smiled apologetically before standing also. He couldn't leave yet though. He turned and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Humour was never your strong point, mother."

"I thought it was funny." She announced.

"It wasn't." Sherlock replied plainly, then he smiled despite himself. "Make Mycroft make a dinner reservation... You can tease us more over dinner."

Sherlock strode out of the cafe, leaving Molly to awkwardly say goodbye and run to catch up after him.


	15. Different Style of Clothing

**In a different style of clothing.**

"Cheers" Mary smiled as she clinked her wine glass against Molly's. Molly grinned and took a sip, but it was plain to see that she was preoccupied. Mary had noticed, and reached out to pat her friend reassuringly on the knee. "They'll be ok!"

"I know they will." Molly replied, lacking conviction in her words. "How do you do it Mary, stay so calm when they are out on a case?"

"Because they're together." Mary stated simply. "I don't think about what John and Sherlock are doing out there, I think about the fact that they'll do anything they can to protect each other." Molly tried to lock her words into her mind as a comfort, but she was still coming up at a loss. "Have dealt with him on cases for years..."

"But he's actually mine now." Molly sighed. "I used to worry about him, but it was just...so...removed. Now I worry for real. If something was to happen to him..."

"You can't think like that Molls." Mary reclined at her end of the couch. "He's capable, and so is John."

There was a pause as the two women thought about the words. Molly spoke first. "Did John tell you what they were doing?"

"Routine infiltration of a military base." Mary replied casually, as though she was commenting on the weather.

Molly smirked. "Routine infiltration."

"They've done it before." Mary replied cryptically. Molly smirked. She knew that dating the world's only consulting detective would be an interesting adventure, but she wondered when exactly infiltrations of military bases became routine.

"How's it going between you two anyway?" Mary asked, grinning like a gossiping teen.

"Really good."

"That's good." Mary replied. She knew Molly and Sherlock were quite private people, so as much as Mary wanted to probe for gossip, she knew a gentle approach to information was needed. "Transition from friends to lovers was easy then?"

Molly smiled. "No major hiccups. Unless you count the ice cream thing."

"Ice cream thing?"

"Oh nothing." The pathologist laughed. While she believed it to be a cute, funny story, Molly was sure that Mary wouldn't see it the way she and Sherlock did.

"So..." Mary decided to throw caution to the wind. What was the point of a ladies night if there was no talk about their men? "Have you dropped the L word yet?"

"No." Molly sounded outraged."It's a little too soon for that."

"Is it?" Mary asked pensively over her wine glass. "You love him, don't you?"

"I do, I always have." Molly answered, then quickly added, "I don't want to scare him off though..."

"Scare him off! Molly!"Mary was surprised at her friends response. Did Molly really think that Sherlock would be scared if her emotions? Did everyone really see him as a cold hearted monster of a man? Sherlock had always been very warm and accommodating with her (even after she shot him) and it was unusual that Molly didn't see that. "The man who is so closed off to emotion has opened himself up to you, you saying the words won't scare him off."

Her response was so quiet Mary wasn't sure she had heard it correctly. "They will if he doesn't feel them too."

"Molly..." Mary reached out and squeezed her arm reassuringly. "I've never seen Sherlock like he is with you. Granted I didn't know him before the incident, but I know what John said about him. For him to be opening his home and his life to you means that he feels deeply for you."

"I don't want him to feel bad if he is not ready to say them back."

Mary grinned. "What if he is ready, he's just waiting for you?"

"Don't be logical at a time like this Mary." Molly laughed. Mary joined her laughter. "I am going to wait a little while, before I tell him I love him, I mean... I want it all to be sure. For him to be sure."

Mary nodded. As sure as she was that her friends were destined to be happy together forever, Mary knew the importance of letting a relationship develop at its own pace. There was no point rushing things, and as much as she was playfully on Molly's back about admitting her feelings to Sherlock, Molly would tell him when it was right for her to tell him.

Molly interrupted her musings. "How did John tell you he loved you for the first time?"

"The first time..." Mary began, searching through her memory for the event. There had been so many 'I love you's since then, "He didn't say it. I told him." She laughed at the memory. "I did something and he said I was silly, and I just replied with 'yeah, but you love me'... He agreed."

"That's so you guys though." Molly laughed. As much as she and Sherlock's relationship had a playful manner, they were still serious about important things. "That's perfect."

"Don't waste time searching for perfect Molly." Mary sighed. "Make perfect happen."

Mary's phone dinged with an incoming text, interrupting the two of them. Mary checked it, sighed happily and said "They're safe. On their way home now."

Molly finished her wine. "Thank goodness."

They spoke of other, general things (they didn't think it was wise to be gossiping about their significant others) until they heard footsteps outside the door. Mary got up to let them in, and Molly was intrigued by the long whistle that Mary let out.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, decked out in full army uniform, entered the living room. Molly's mouth went dry at the sight of her usually stunning boyfriend in the extremely sexy uniform. He stood tall and commanding in the camouflage, his usually wayward curls slicked back into an acceptable style. "You guys didn't tell me it's was an undercover mission."

Molly hugged Sherlock, revelling in the feel of his army fatigues against her cheek. This look was quite appealing on him, and she had to admit it was making her body react.

"It's getting late." Mary said suddenly, a fire burning in her eyes, "You boys have had a long day. I think John needs to get to bed."

John shook his head. "No, I am..."

Mary tried again, this time shooting her husband a pointed look, "I think I need to get you to bed John."

"Right, well, we're off." Sherlock smirked. Mary's tone had been so obvious even Sherlock had read the subtext. "Coming Molly."

"What?" She looked up from his strong chest and realised what was going on. Sherlock continued to smirk, this time at her, as he ushered her out the door with a hasty goodnight.

"So, what about you?" Molly began as they walked down the street hand-in-hand. "Do I need to get you into bed too?"

Molly paused, mortified at her words, while Sherlock was beside himself with laughter.

"I mean... What I meant was..." She stuttered, cheeks pink. Sherlock pulled her into a hug.

"God, you're great." He laughed. Molly tried to indignantly stare at him, but he captured her in a kiss that started chastely, and soon dissolved into a battle of lips and tongues.

"Would you like to..." Sherlock began breathlessly, almost nervously. "Get me into bed?"

Molly closed her eyes and let the words wash over her. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Come back to Baker Street, Molly Hooper." His tone left no room for misinterpretation.

Molly hesitated briefly before whispering. "Are you sure?"

He pressed another kiss to her lips. "I've never been this sure about anything in my existence. I've never wanted this with anyone else. I've never felt this for anyone else. I am sure Molly, because i am sure about us...I guess that means I lo..."

Molly pulled his mouth back to hers, realising she didn't need the words, for in that moment, they were making perfect happen.


	16. Morning Routine

**Morning Routines**

Molly's shrill alarm went off, dragging twin groans from the pathologist and her consulting detective.

Molly was on the early shift, meaning her alarm was sounding at un-godly o'clock. She sighed in the darkness of her bedroom, pulled back the blankets and tried to get up. She couldn't move. She was anchored to the bed. A strong forearm lay across her hip, gripping her in a like a vice against a warm bare chest.

"Sherlock, I have to get up." Molly whispered reluctantly, Sherlock let out a childish sob and held her tighter. "Sherlock, I'll be late."

When her tone was more insistent, Molly was reluctantly released from captivity. Sherlock rolled over into the cocoon of blankets.

0o0

Molly waited for the pipes to warm up in her old bathroom. She loved the flat she owned due to its heritage feel and old-world charm, but she wished that it came with a few more modern features. The shower at Baker Street warmed water almost instantly, she thought jealously.

Molly jumped as the bathroom door opened and Sherlock shuffled in.

"I thought you'd keep sleeping." Molly smiled, kissing him on the cheek. He didn't often sleep, so he looked like he needed a few more hours.

He grumbled something incoherent that ended with the word "shower". Molly shrugged and dropped her robe, stepping into the tub. Sherlock shucked his pyjama pants.

Any other morning, she would have been excited to be sharing a shower stall with Sherlock, but this morning she had a very tight schedule. When she had been single, she had trained herself to be ready for work and out the door in half an hour on her early morning shifts, allowing her to get every last moment of sleep. This morning her alarm allowed her half an hour of preparation time, but Sherlock, it seemed, wanted a long, leisurely routine this morning.

Molly never realised how small her shower was, at least not until she started trying to fit two people into it. Manoeuvring around the tub was difficult, especially considering Sherlock's desire to just stand like a curly-headed brick wall, and let the water rush over him.

He awoke a little after a few minutes, and reached out to help lather soap into Molly's shoulders, massaging sensually as he went. Molly was in two minds. His hands on her shoulders were glorious, but the clock, she was sure, was running low on time,

"Gah, Sherlock! Not now!" Molly sighed, pulling away from him and stepping into the spray to wash off the soap. "I am running late."

She finished up, leaving Sherlock in the shower.

0o0

When Sherlock returned to the bedroom, Molly was quite frazzled.

She was digging through their clothes from the previous night, searching frantically. For her second shoe, Sherlock assumed.

She looked up at him. "Don't just stand there, detect where my shoe is, oh consulting one!"

Sherlock smiled wickedly. Molly was cute when she was stressed and rushed (he assumed that was a breaking a cardinal boyfriend rule, to think his stressed out girlfriend was funny, but he couldn't help it.)

Sherlock sat on the bed, reached under it and retrieved the shoe. He handed it to her wordlessly.

"Thank you" she cried, but she was already out in the hallway heading towards the kitchen.

0o0

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock paused in the buttoning of his shirt. Molly sounded angry.

Guess that meant she had found the acid-covered liver in the microwave.

0o0

Molly was finally ready. Coffee in a travel mug, a piece if toast between her teeth, both shoes on her feet. She wasn't game enough to glance at her watch, however.

"Forgetting something?" Sherlock asked. He was leaning against the doorway that lead to the living room.

Molly glanced down at herself. As far as she knew, she was ready. Nothing she could see was amiss.

Something dropped from Sherlock's hand and swung in the air between them. Her St. Bart's ID card attacked to a bright pink lanyard.

"Oh thanks." Molly reached out to take it, but Sherlock snatched it away from her with a cheeky grin.

"Sherlock!" Molly warned, "I'll be late."

"You're already late." He informed her. "A few extra minutes won't hurt."

Molly sighed and stepped forward, holding out her hand. Sherlock smiled, and instead of depositing the item in them, he pulled her to him, trapping her against his chest. "You can't leave without saying goodbye."

Molly knew exactly what type of goodbye he wanted, and she was powerless to stop herself from giving it to him, trapped against his chest, she accepted the assault of his lips willingly.

They broke apart after a passionate kiss that Molly was reluctant to move away from. She stood, hands steadying herself on his biceps, and leant up for another kiss.

"You'll be late." He reminded her with an infuriating smirk.

Molly kissed him again anyway. "I am late already... A few extra minutes won't hurt."


End file.
